El Color de la Sangre
by wolf with panther eyes
Summary: "Daytime may belong to his main stream of mind, but for now, it is night, and it is he who reigns supreme." One-shot focusing on Spain's dark side, includes prostitution and murder.


Red.

If there's one thing he loves, it is red. That rich, vibrant passion of a colour, it consumes his whole being, flowing through his very veins in the disguise of blood.

He carries a knife within his pocket – not a special knife at all, just an ordinary everyday knife, such as you might use to spread butter. But he has sharpened the blade purposely, and even as he tucked it neatly into a tissue to avoid it from cutting his fingers, it had nearly sliced through the flimsy paper at once.

Night has fallen over his country. He can feel every grain of sand sticking to the ground; if he tunes his ears he can hear the faint chirping of the crickets out over the plains. Everything has settled, but everything is still very much alive. Daytime may belong to his main stream of mind, but for now, it is night, and it is he who reigns supreme.

The city itself has stilled, but the district he is heading for has only just awoken. He quirks a grin at the beauty of this side of the otherwise respected city, the 'underground', as others call it. Beggars have curled up in doorways, seeking shelter from the chill that hangs in the air. He recalls their backstories, the reasons why they have arrived on the streets, and as always he feels no tug of pity within his heart. He cannot help them, and he sees no reason to. Besides, his attention is focused on the streets past them.

It is easy enough to choose a luckless victim. Men and women alike flaunt their bodies, selling off their innocence for that mere driving force of money. It amuses him how much money has taken over the soul of the world… once, people laughed at him over his own obsessive need for gold. Now everyone is stuck within the same cycle. Money makes the world go round. The hypocrites that laughed at him understand that now, and he cannot help but feel bitter at them for destroying his own treasure.

He spends his time examining each person, passing over the regulars, who recognise him and turn their backs. They understand what he does, and they do not like it, but they cannot complain. No-one listens to a whore. Especially a whore who would speak out against him; he who is essential to the survival of the whole country. He, one of the most important beings on the planet, perhaps in the universe.

Eventually, he settles on one; a woman who is only young, wearing flashy clothes that show off her body, her wares. There is a slight rustle as he hands over his money to the woman who guards her, a slight nod reminding her that this woman he is taking will not be returned.

His whore laughs nervously as he leads her away, teasing him playfully and pressing her breasts to his arm. He has no time for her easy words, nor does he believe them – he can feel her trembling against him, shaking behind her confident appearance. He has not seen her before on the streets, but he knows her nonetheless. He knows her full name, her date of birth, her deepest dreams and desires. He knows every tiniest detail about her, just as he always knows each of his victims, and he sucks in these details. He likes to know who these people are, what they have done for his grand nation.

He stops abruptly, lightly placing his fingers over hers. _"Ponte aquí,"_ he whispers to her in their shared tongue, guiding her back to the wall. He can see her wince; he knows she is guessing how painful this will be for her. Unfortunately for her, she is guessing wrong. She has only offered herself for a quick fuck; she has no idea that she has instead been bought for something much more extreme.

_"Todo habrá terminado en un minuto, chica,"_ he murmurs to her, stroking her waist as he presses his lips to her neck, flicking his tongue against her smooth skin. She smells of sweat and heavy makeup… she has already been hired out earlier, he can tell. He prefers it this way, he prefers them already worn out when he has his way with them. She clings to his back, rubbing her knee against his thigh, offering herself to him.

That's the moment when he chooses to slip his knife from its temporary home and bring his hand up sharply, slashing it across her throat.

There is a soft, sharp cry that turns into nothing more than a gurgle as blood gushes out, her dark eyes frozen in terror and shock. They will remain that way forever. She slumps back against the wall, her life gone, blood dripping and mingling with the dusty soil beneath them.

He wraps his arm around her waist, pushing her shoulders against the wall to support her limp body upright. Already his heart is racing; the sweet smell of her blood is driving him crazy. He can feel it as it seeps into the ground, like it is seeping into his very soul. He lowers the knife, wiping it once on her too-short skirt before placing it back in his pocket. Then, slowly, he dips his fingers in the spilt blood, exploring the chasm he has neatly created in her throat.

_"Dormir bien, mi niña,"_ he whispers, trailing his fingers over her cheeks, leaving streaks of crimson across her painted face. _"Y gracias."_

He takes his time licking the blood from his fingers, savouring the sweet thrill of an easy kill. And the best part of it is… when dawn breaks and this side of him is lost, he shall have forgotten, and be left only with the bloodstains. Soon, this side of him will take over completely as his other self is driven mad. And once again, he will be able to control the world.

Red.

It is the most glorious of colours.

It is the only colour befitting of _España_.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

In my headcanon, Spain has an extreme dark side. It was this side that took over during his conquistador days, and even though this side is mostly dormant in him today, it can sometimes cause him to snap when he loses his temper.

Also part of my headcanon is the longing for red, and the association of red with blood, which I took from the pain Spain inflicted on his colonies when he first invaded and forcibly took them.

Hence this story.

Translations I have taken from google translate as I am not a Spanish speaker myself. If anyone is wiling to correct them, feel free.

El Color de la Sangre = The colour of blood  
Ponte aquí = Stand here  
Todo habrá terminado en un minuto, chica = It will be over in a minute, girl  
Dormir bien, mi niña, y gracias = sleep well, my girl, and thank you


End file.
